Bring You Home (formally titled Crash and Burn)
by ashsrvnge
Summary: Sam and Dean were pilots in the Army when a horrible crash kills Sam, it cripples Dean with grief. A year after Sam's death, Dean is discovering he never really knew his little brother. Secrets and lies begin to unfold and it seems only an angel can save Dean from himself.
1. Chapter 1

Rowan approached the only remaining table in the bar on Sixth Street. An eager bouncy blonde waitress arrived to the table at the exact moment Rowan's hand touched the chair. The waitress, Gemma, as her perfectly placed name badge suggested was irate because this woman was about to take her last table even though she was obviously alone.

" you sure you wouldn't want to just sit up at the bar?" Gemma practically begged the question in hopes to save the table and any promise of future tips. She was rudely ignored by the screeching of the chair legs being slowly dragged across the concrete floors.

"Here is just fine." Rowan snagged a drink menu simultaneously whilst the hostess walked by them holding a handful. She studied the menu briefly and a wry smile pursed her lips as she read the name of the house red, "I'll have a glass of "Devil's Staircase" please." With the flick of her hand, she waved off the irritated, less perky, Gemma, who waited a full five minutes before delivering the wine.

Rowan continued to study the room. The bar was safely tucked away between two little shops that must close around sundown to avoid the noisy outpouring of midnight drunkards that shout in the streets while littering the nearby alley with piss and the scent of sex. The bar lived up to its name, 666. Although, the theme wasn't exactly consistent throughout. It kind of ended abruptly with the menu items. The clientele was its only truth in advertising.

She was taking in the scenery when she caught his eyes reflected in the mirror behind the bar. He shuffled to the end of the bar, straddled the empty stool and began unbuttoning his coat. He pulled a twenty from the inside pocket and slammed it onto the bar without a word. The bartender walked over to retrieve the money and exchanged it for a glass of whiskey. As she stared at him, she noticed the harsh lines on his face etched deeply, the lowest pits of them invisible shadows. She wondered how many times he and the bartender had performed this little dance to have it perfected now without words. To the world, he was unapproachable, but to Rowan, he was perfect.

Her gaze never quite met his and she was glad since she wanted to simply observe him before making a move. He was devastatingly handsome and heartbroken; qualities she admired in a man. He raised an empty glass and supplied a couple more bills that must've indicated he wanted the whole bottle. The bartender obliged and poured him another. By this point, it was clear that he was already several drinks into a kamikaze mission and his liver was the poor bastard pilot that would be going down in flames tonight.

Dean held the bottle of Jack Daniels to pour it into his empty glass and a tremor betrayed him. He slid a napkin off the stack in front of him and clumsily wiped the drops of Tennessee's finest from the bar. He quickly drank the remainder and motioned the bartender to pour his fifth glass. The dance was over, the bartender slid some bills back across the bar to indicate he was done. With pleading desperation in his eyes, Dean silently begged for one last drink and the bartender once again obliged. Dean stared at his poison as if it could change things, change everything. He couldn't change anything though. He was alone and the only thing that was good had died and he'd just buried the last bit of goodness in him alongside his brother, Sam.

Rowan studied Dean with a growing curiosity. Clearly impressed by his immense tolerance for alcohol. He was only exhibiting signs of being slightly inebriated, not yet drunk. She narrowly escaped being noticed when he stood up to walk across the bar to the jukebox. It was only after his selection, 'brother' began billowing out into the bar that caused her to laugh audibly enough for him to hear her. She felt briefly he might curl those lips into a smile, but she was wrong. It was a peculiar song choice to the outside world, but to Dean, it was a heartfelt anthem for Sam. He returned to his stool. Lifting the glass to his mouth, he drank in the last of his poison. He walked out of the bar before the song even finished playing.

He was approaching a black impala when he heard the footsteps behind him. The alcohol had not slowed his instincts because he whipped around to stand face to face with the woman from the bar, Rowan. His intensity and almost instant sobriety caught her by surprise.

"I'm sorry, but I just couldn't let you drive home like this." Her hand attempted to signify his intoxication, however, minimal it appeared in that exact moment.

"Like what, exactly?" His cockiness was as appealing as his former silence, "drunk, devilishly handsome?"

"Alone. I was going to say alone." Rowan held her chin up when she spoke. She attempted the same confidence, but it didn't quite live up to her expectations.

"Fine," he seemed ready to resolve himself to his fate of a somewhat drunken one night stand, "get in".


	2. Chapter 2

Rowan slid herself into the passenger seat of the '67 impala pulling the door closed just as Dean's key slid into the ignition. If it weren't for his 6 foot stature she would swear he was overcompensating with this classic muscle car. He reached over her lap and popped open the glove box. He rummaged around and retrieved a cassette and traded it out for the one still in the deck. When he tossed the old cassette into the glove box he turned to look at Rowan and winked as if to signify she was in for a real treat.

As AC/DC blared through the speakers she wondered if there would be words exchanged at all or if this was a silent venture. He belted out lyrics along with Angus and to her surprise, he wasn't awful. The alcohol was definitely having an affect, but not so much that she wanted to claw her way out of the car. She laughed under her breath and Dean noticed for the second time she was criticizing his musical taste.

"Problem?"

"No, not at all. You're car, driver's choice...right?" She was confident that this was the best possible answer.

He nodded to concur when the tiniest hint of smile pursed his lips. The shock of the sudden sign of happiness was enough to cause him to swerve just a little. He needed to feel happiness again. He needed to not feel so empty. He didn't care what it cost. He reached out his hand and rested it on her leg. She looked over at him and smiled. It was a nervous smile though. She was still wrestling with how far she was willing to take this. Her options were kind of limited since she'd just climbed into his car and was now heading to God knows where with a man she knew nothing about. It was impulsive and pretty much insane. When they pulled up a long driveway to a house that probably cost a cool million she realized just how crazy she was for this little escapade.

Flood lights illuminated the black car as it crept up the driveway and Dean reached for the garage door opener. As he waited for the door to open he cleared his throat.

"Listen, my roommate might be home, but he won't bother us. I just wanted to let you know before we head in so he doesn't catch you off guard."

"Just hope we don't wake him. It's kind of late." Rowan glanced at her watch and realized just how late it was.

"He won't mind. We are pretty much passing ships. He works long days and I'm out most nights. He could sleep through an apocalypse I'm sure and anyway, I hardly see him to be honest." Dean's speech sounded scripted. Lines he had rehearsed or said time and time again. Rowan wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. She shrugged off the concern and followed him through the side entrance to the house. It led into the mudroom and into the kitchen. It looked like one of those homes on HGTV that the people have an unlimited budget and they end up with two ovens and two dishwashers. The cabinets concealed all the appliances and the island was big enough to... well, it was big. Dean walked over to the fridge and pulled out a beer and offered one to Rowan. She waved him off. He popped the lid off the beer using the marble countertop. She cringed at the sight of this, but she watched with amazement as he finished the entire beer in one long delicious swig. She walked a few steps across the expanse of the kitchen and he pulled her closer. Their hips almost touching and his face was inches from hers when a light from the hallway flicked on to expose them.

"Hello, Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

The gruff quality of the voice was unsettling and heartbreaking. The tall, sleep deprived, raven haired soul that belonged to the raspy bass voice was Castiel Novak. His unkempt hair and dark circles betrayed him because he was actually quite handsome when a stranger wasn't waking him up after midnight on a weeknight. He pulled his blue fleece robe tighter around him and held it closed with one hand and the other ran through his beautifully messy hair.

Dean just stared right through him without seeing the pain that was clearly present in Castiel's eyes. The light flickered against those tragic, blue orbs. There had always been a sadness that could stop someone dead in their tracks. It was there the first time Dean ever saw those eyes. Of course that seemed like a lifetime ago and he avoided looking at those eyes now because there was an immeasurable sadness always staring back now mixed with indifference or anger. Dean couldn't decide which. Tonight, though, he stared straight through.

"You must be the roommate." Rowan announced suddenly and it must have caught Castiel off guard as well since he tilted his head to the side looking at Dean quizzically.

"Roommate?" His voice was broken and he looked back and forth between Rowan and Dean. When Dean refused to meet his gaze he looked devastated.

"I guess that's an accurate description. Roommates. Yes, I suppose we are."

The words felt bitter in his mouth. He spit them out hoping the taste would leave, but when it didn't he turned and left the room and Dean followed, whispering his name as he chased after his...roommate, Castiel.

"Cas. Let me explain-" His voice echoed but began to trail off the further away he walked.

"Explain what exactly, Dean? That you're drunk again and brought another one of your conquests home...to our home."

Castiel's tone was stern and sharp. Rowan could hear the argument that had settled in the hallway and her curiosity pushed her forward a few steps so she could hear what they were saying. It was mostly Castiel and by the sound of it, this wasn't their first argument over Dean's overnight guests….plural.

She could only hear bits of the conversation and she pulled out her phone to call a cab when she realized she had no idea what street this house was located. She was edging herself to the door to make her escape she heard the sound of glass shattering which Rowan decided was the beer bottle that Dean had carried with him. She eased out through the garage and turned on the flashlight on her phone until she reached the motion lights at the edge of the garage.

She began to walk back down the driveway so she could maybe see the street sign so she could tell the cab company where to find her. She almost fell when her heel snagged a pebble causing her to lose her balance and drop her phone as she tried to recover. Before the phone could hit the ground a hand reached out from behind her and the phone gracefully landed in its palm. Startled by Castiel's sudden appearance and miraculous phone saving skills, Rowan let out a tiny scream.

As she stood there with her hands on her chest trying to slow her breathing from panicked possible murder victim to calm collected awkward uninvited guest she held out her hand to retrieve her phone from Castiel.

"Do you need a ride back to your car? I can drive you if you'd like." Castiel had emerged a new man. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Rowan simply shrugged in agreement as it would be cheaper than calling a cab.

"Sure. This night can't get any worse."

They both walked back up the long driveway in silence and Castiel opened the door to a 1978 Lincoln Continental. She shook her head in disbelief.

"What is it with guys and old cars?" He didn't respond as he closed her door and walked around to the driver's side. When he sat down he felt compelled to shed some light on his situation, not about the car, but about Dean.

Rowan sensed he wanted to share something important and that Castiel was struggling with how to begin.

"How long have you and Dean been together?"

Her question cut right to point. Perhaps she understood more than he'd given her credit for. All the others were either too daft to pick up on the cues or too narcissistic to give a damn.

"Almost four years." He hung his head down feeling like that would be all he could answer from now on. He would never get to say five years, twenty years, a lifetime. He was tired and defeated and he didn't want to talk, but he felt he needed to say something out loud for a change. Maybe all this internal anguish was slowly killing him, killing them.

"Dean lost his younger brother last year." Castiel stated.

He spoke quickly and cautiously like Dean could hear what he said to this woman whose name he realized he did not know. Judgement hung in the air like a fog despite Dean not being in the car with them and instantly Castiel realized he did not want to know her name, but tonight was not his night.

Rowan waited patiently for Castiel to start the car and begin the long drive back to the bar where she'd stupidly decided to go home with Dean, but it was obvious he wanted to issue a warning or explanation of some sort. It was unnecessary, yet unavoidable. She made a quick decision to display empathy as this situation apparently required it. The news was shocking to say the least so the empathy came naturally.

"How did he die?" Rowan always engaged when people opened up to her. It should be noted that subtlety was not her forte and it often caused people to feel uncomfortable opening up to her.

Castiel did not owe this stranger any explanation and yet he couldn't stop himself. He appreciated her bluntness as it reminded of himself and he was desperate for someone to talk to about Dean, his Dean. Rowan watched Castiel as his eyes gripped the steering wheel and the internal battle he was waging against himself. He didn't want to expose Dean to this stranger even though he was tired of being in this alone.

"Story for another time maybe." He backed out of the driveway and began the silent journey down the road. It was the most excruciating drive he'd ever made aside from the drive from Sam's memorial service.

Occasionally, he'd look over at his strange passenger and wondered whether he should tell her everything. Passing street after street he remained resolute that he would not divulge more because as angry as he was with Dean, he still loved him and he wondered if there was any part of Dean that would still love him after tonight. He tried to shake away the image of Dean slamming his beer bottle at him. The absolute rage that lived behind his green eyes. Castiel felt the wetness welling up and he wiped the tears away.

He slowed down as they approached the bar and Rowan pointed to her car up ahead. She dug through her purse and pulled out her keys and a business card. When the car rolled to a stop in front of her Charger. With one hand on the door handle she almost lost her nerve. It was the look on Castiel's face that gave her the courage to offer. She handed him her card to which he just stared at with a perplexed look. Rowan met his gaze and in acknowledgement he accepted the card without speaking.

"Look, I understand we met under the most bizarre circumstance, but if you need someone to talk to or just a friend, I'm a really good listener. I hope you'll consider it."

"We'll see."

He watched Rowan step out of the car and walk towards her car. Before he drove away he couldn't resist rolling down the window and raising an accusing finger in the direction of her car, "you're one to talk."

Rowan shook her head and laughed as she watched Castiel drive away into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

Chief Warrant Officer Dean Winchester could feel it. He banked the aircraft to turn and the tail rotor hit the ground just after they had taken off. They hit with enough force to break the tail skid, losing four inches off the tail blades and sending shrapnel into the flight controls. The bird slammed into the ground hard and as soon as he can turn around to check his crew he sees what no pilot wants to see. Two members of his crew are injured. He must have hit his head on impact because he can hear his little brother tell him he's fine. His head falls to one side and he slips out of consciousness.

Screaming wakes Castiel. He swears he has only just fallen back asleep a few minutes ago. When he arrived back home, he found Dean asleep on the couch. It wasn't like he'd expected him to sleep in his bed. They had not shared a bed in months. They really were passing ships or roommates as Dean so eloquently put it earlier.

Castiel is all too familiar with the screaming though. It comes along with the territory of having a loved one returned to you from war that is more or less, emotionally wrecked. The night terrors were always the same and Castiel knew how to help. It was the only time Dean would actually let him touch him.

He rushed quietly down the hall and found Dean violently turning in his sleep dream state. No sudden movements. He moved just close enough for Dean to hear him, but kept a safe distance from flailing arms and powerful punches. He'd mistakenly doubted Dean once and tried to wake him from a nightmare. The force of Dean's fist practically dislocated Castiel's shoulder.

"Dean." He spoke softly and tried to ease him awake with his voice.

"You need to wake up. You are having a nightmare." It was difficult to remain calm given their current situation. He hated to see Dean like this. It was awful and he felt helpless.

The thrashing subsided and Dean seem to wake somewhat and he immediately blinked in the darkness to get his bearings. Tonight was proving to be more of a challenge though. When he opened his eyes he couldn't see the living room or Castiel. He saw Sam with a chest full of shrapnel and blood. So much blood.

"Sam! Sam! Don't you die on me little brother. Sam!" He blinked again and Castiel came into focus. The bloody crash scene dissipated into the recesses of his mind. Castiel placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. He didn't speak, but his breath hitched when Dean reached up and placed his hand on top of Castiel's. They sat there in silence for a few minutes while Dean recovered. Castiel could not fight the urge to speak and he instantly regretted it because Dean's hand left his and the moment was gone.

"You could come to bed, if you want."

Dean stood up and began walking to the kitchen.

"I don't want to sleep anymore. I'm gonna grab another beer." He was already in the kitchen before Castiel could protest. He turned and went back to his room and cried himself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Three short hours later the alarm woke Castiel from one of the worst night's sleep. He reached out to silence the alarm on his phone and stared groggily at the numbers in disbelief that it was already 6:30. It was.

He got up and made his way to the bathroom.

Pee.

Shower.

Brush teeth.

Shave...on second thought, he'll skip the shave today.

Hair.

He throws on a clean white button up shirt, blue silk tie, dark suit. It's not cold enough for his coat, but he puts it on anyway.

He doesn't find Dean on the couch when he walks through the living room and into the kitchen. He grabs an apple from the blue ceramic bowl on the bar. While he is staring into the fridge, trying to decide which of the three meals he's already prepped for the week in microwave safe labeled containers he hears the roar of Baby, Dean's impala. The screeching sound of the tires peeling out of their driveway causes Castiel's heart to drop. He really wanted to see him before he left for work.

Before the tour in Afghanistan, when Dean was just a pilot in the Army, they never fought. There might have been the occasional disagreement about whether pie counted as a complete, balanced breakfast, but nothing like this last year. Castiel tried to be patient. He understood what Dean had lost when Sam died. He didn't think it was selfish when he asked to go to counseling, but Dean did. In fact, that's exactly what he'd told him when Castiel was pleading with him three months ago when he'd walked in on Dean and that month's one night stand.

" Get out, Cas!" Dean barked the order at him like he was his subordinate. It might have been half anger and half embarrassment at being caught, but the words still hurled themselves at Castiel like a thousand knives. Each one punctuating the pain that was eating Dean alive, turning him into the dark-eyed demon that Castiel could barely recognize. His hand was frozen on the doorknob. His body stood still in shock.

"You need help, Dean. We need help. Just please consider it." He closed the door and left Dean and his...new...friend.

Dean came barging into Castiel's room a minute later. He slammed the door behind him.

"You think I need help? I think you need the help, buddy! You are so incredibly selfish, Cas."

"I'm selfish?"

"Yea. It's all about you. What you need, what you want. To hell with me and my needs."

"I only want what's best for you, Dean." This was the truth and Castiel wished Dean could see that.

"What's best for me," Dean seemed to stumble over it, doubting that Cas could possibly know what was best for him. "What's best for me right now, is not you. It's not holding your damn hand and talking to some quack about problems or anything. Just give me a break, man."

"You don't really mean that, do you?"

Dean was about to say yes, but something deep within his soul refused to let him speak. He stared into the brilliant blue eyes of the man he once loved, the man he wanted to love. His face covered with shame that he was further away from Cas right now than when he'd fallen asleep under a desert sky thousands of miles away. He wanted to close the gap between them. He wanted to grab Cas by the arms, pull him into the deepest kiss. He longed to feel Cas crumble at his touch.

He was lost in the dream of him kissing Cas' lips. The taste of him, Dean getting drunk on the smell of Castiel's skin. The dream shattered. Castiel was watching Dean and it felt like he could see the dream. There was a glint of hope bubbling up in his eyes. Dean remembered and was immediately brought back to reality. He couldn't, not yet. He just can't forget…


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel makes his selection for lunch. He picks up the container labeled Chicken parmesan. He opens the door and walks out to the garage picking up his briefcase with his free hand and loads everything into the back seat of his car. When he sits down in the driver seat he tosses his phone over to the passenger seat and sees the business card from last night. He picks it up to study it and reads the name. Rowan de la Vega. He finds this amusing because she did not look hispanic at all and then disturbed because that probably means she's married. He half prays this isn't the case as he doesn't want any estranged husbands showing up on his doorstep.

He carelessly drops the card back into the passenger seat and does not notice when it falls onto the floorboard caught between the seat and the door. He doesn't think of the card again for weeks.

Work is the same. Long hours, fake smiles, small talk that is only motivated by a desire to make money. The work is technically easy, but somewhat soul crushing. Castiel sells lies. Well, they aren't all lies. The financial planning business can be tricky. The trick is knowing how to exploit people's weaknesses. Want to be your family's hero? Plan for the unknown today. Invest, insure, save. People want to be remembered. They want to leave a legacy. Castiel Novak could help them do just that and he did. Every. Day.

Awards filled his office. Million Dollar Round Table. Product Leader, Best Year, the list went on. It felt like a betrayal. He was praised and valued in his career. He excelled and surpassed all expectations from his colleagues. He was at his best in the business world, but he was failing everywhere outside of the office. His success skyrocketed by the fact that he poured everything he had left into his work.

He walked through the office and offered polite hello's to each staff member he met. He stopped in front of his Administrative Assistant and pulled a legal pad from his briefcase to hand over to Becky. He asked her to type up the notes and apply the changes to the personal planning analysis for the lunch appointment with the Berg's. He'd been working on a proposal for them for the past two weeks and he needed everything to be perfect.

During the last meeting, he felt that Stephanie Berg was apprehensive about making the changes he'd suggested. She didn't think they needed to put away and additional 20k a month and she was convinced their retirement plan was without flaw. Castiel always had a plan to disrupt this thought process. He had a way of making people see what they actually needed and what they could learn to live without in order to secure a better future. He just couldn't extrapolate this same concept in his relationship with Dean. Each frustrating encounter at home pushed him to be even better at work which is why he now was the top selling agent with the company and best financial planner in the city.

Castiel entered his office and shut the door behind him. He dropped his briefcase into the antique red leather chair in the corner. He walked over to the mini fridge and placed his lunch inside. As he turned around he was greeted by a light knock on the door and Tessa holding a large vase with calla lilies. They were beautiful and Tessa brought them closer so she could set them down on the large desk right next to the engraved name plate, Mr. C. Novak, CLU, ChFC, CASL.

The white blooms were tinted with hues of yellow and their scent quickly filled the office. Castiel thanked Tessa for bringing them in and he moved closer so he could look for a card. His heart nearly skipped a beat when he saw the handwriting.

 _Dear Cas,_

 _I'm a jerk. I am sorry for what it's worth. We'll get there, one day. I promise._

 _Love, Dean_

The smile did not leave Castiel's face for the entire day. Even when his lunch appointment did not go as planned. He could not wait to get home. He prayed to himself that they would get there one day. Soon. He wanted it to be soon. He knew it would take time, he wanted it to be tonight. He wanted them to be like were, tonight. His expectations were always too high though. They bordered on delusional, but he didn't care.

The rest of the day was a blur of meetings and phone calls. He stayed late even though he was anxious to get home. He made meticulous tweaks to the Berg case in a last attempt at salvaging countless hours of work. When he finalized the report he saved it and buzzed his assistant, Becky, asking for her to send a copy to Stephanie Berg. He dictated a quick email to accompany the report and instinctively knew it would put them back on track.

By seven o'clock he was taking the first bite of his lunch. He'd almost forgotten he was supposed to meet the Bergs for lunch which is what almost cost him the case. He worked on a a few case notes and studied the files of his upcoming appointments. The office was dark and his was the only remaining light. He logged off the computer and slid two files into his briefcase.

The elevator ride was quiet and gave him a chance to check his phone messages. Nothing from Dean. It wasn't unusual. Even when they were in a great place he wasn't much for texting or calling. He did leave notes though, which Castiel thought was adorable and quite romantic. He kept the notes. Every. One. They filled at least three photo albums. Castiel wanted to take care to protect each one so he'd picked up one of those photo scrapbooks and he carefully placed each one under the protective film. Dean might not be great at communicating verbally, but he had a way with words on paper. It was probably the songwriter in him. It's what Castiel fell in love with in the first place.

Music filled the house on the corner of Woody and Dickerson Court. It was a relatively quiet and secluded neighborhood and not too far from Nashville. The neighbors never complained as long as Dean didn't play past eleven and he was usually too drunk to play by eleven. His calloused hands gripped the neck of his custom made Taylor guitar. The pads of fingers found the right positions. He sat on the edge of the ottoman strumming the chords to his favorite Lynyrd Skynyrd song. The words grew louder with each line that he sung. Passion was hard to come by these days for Dean and he felt it even when he tried to sing. He felt Castiel's eyes watching him. He heard the swift movement of him sitting on the arm of the sofa. He continued to strum, feeling that was protecting him from screwing up again. He let the words speak for him and when he finished the song he heard the expectation waiting for him, waiting in Castiel's silent stare and his own inability to speak. The low rumble that was Castiel's voice broke the silence with a question.

"Would you care to watch a movie?" Castiel reassured himself internally. Start small. Don't push too hard.

"Sure." Dean agreed and gently down the guitar in its stand. Hesitantly he moves towards the couch. Castiel moves to the chair instead not wanting to assume he's welcome with Dean on the couch. He jumps back up when Dean pats his hand on the empty cushion next to him with a welcoming look.

They sit close without touching, but they both feel the heat radiating off one another. In this moment, Castiel feels they can close the distance both literally and figuratively. It makes him smile and he can't help but glance over at Dean to see if he's smiling too. However brief, he believes he sees it. Small, slightly lifted corner tugging at the lines on his beautiful face.


End file.
